🪞 The Mirror That Kept My Shadow

Ahmed had been restless for weeks. Starting over was never easy. Three years of marriage had collapsed in a storm of shouting, betrayal, and one final, bitter decision. He’d left the old apartment and taken a small, dusty flat across town—cheap, a little decrepit, but far away from the memories he was trying to bury.

The room was ordinary enough—peeling wallpaper, a creaky bed frame, a leaky faucet. But one object pulled his eyes the moment he moved in: a full-length mirror in the bedroom.

Its wooden frame was cracked and worn, its surface faintly clouded, but the glass seemed almost too clear, as if it held another world inside. Ahmed thought nothing of it at first. But on his second night, the mirror began to… misbehave.

The First Sign

He sat scrolling through his phone on the sofa when something tugged at his awareness. In the mirror, his reflection lagged—just for a split second. He lifted his hand, and the image followed a heartbeat later.

A chill ran down his spine. He shook his head, muttering, “I’m exhausted. Just stress. Just stress.”

But the unease clung to him.

The Smile That Wasn’t His

On the third night, Ahmed stepped out of the shower, steam still clinging to his hair. He caught sight of himself in the mirror—and froze.

For a few seconds, the reflection was normal. Then, without warning, its lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.

Ahmed’s own face remained motionless.

His stomach dropped. He stumbled back, heart slamming, eyes wide. The smile lingered in the glass long after he’d turned away.

He slept with the lights on that night, but sleep gave him no peace.

The Video

The next evening, he tried to rationalize it away. Isolation plays tricks on you. Trauma, too. Mirrors are just… mirrors. But his curiosity burned hotter than his fear.

He set his phone on a tripod facing the mirror and pressed record. Then he crawled into bed, pretending to ignore the faint pressure of the mirror’s presence in the dark.

Hours later, while the city slept, the mirror came alive.

When Ahmed reviewed the footage the next morning, his blood ran cold. At 2:03 a.m., his reflection rose from the bed. Not him—the reflection.

It stood upright, shoulders straight, and looked around the room. Then it smiled again.

Meanwhile, the real Ahmed lay snoring on the mattress, oblivious.

He dropped the phone. His hands trembled.

The Shadow in the Glass

He threw a blanket over the mirror. But the next night, the blanket lay crumpled on the floor, though Ahmed swore he hadn’t touched it.

And then came the shadow.

He woke one night to find not his reflection staring back, but a vague, black figure pressed against the glass, its head cocked to one side. Its mouth moved silently, forming words he could not hear.

The air grew icy. His breath fogged. He stumbled back, whispering prayers, too terrified to look again.

Breaking Point

By the fourth night, Ahmed had had enough. Sleep-deprived, shaking with fury and fear, he grabbed a hammer.

“I don’t care what you are,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re not staying here.”

With a roar, he smashed the hammer into the glass.

The mirror shattered, shards spraying across the floor.

But instead of silence, the room filled with the sound of dripping. Ahmed looked down—blood. Thick, red blood oozed from the broken shards, pooling on the floor.

His hands were clean. His skin unbroken. The blood was coming from the glass itself.

In the splintered fragments, his reflection no longer existed. Instead, the shadow crouched, clearer than ever before—its eyes glowing a furious red, its grin jagged and hungry.

The Final Night

Neighbors called the police the following morning. They’d heard screams—long, guttural screams—that went on for hours.

When the landlord opened the door, the apartment was empty. No sign of Ahmed.

Only shards of the shattered mirror remained, scattered across the wooden floor.

And in each shard, a tiny reflection stared back.

It wasn’t Ahmed.

It was the shadow.

And every reflection was grinning, leaning forward, as if waiting for someone to pick them up… and set them free.